“I’ll pass the word to the officers,” Traverton said. “We’ll do our best to get Boone off the street. But it won’t be easy. The man can move in and out of town like a shadow. He’s as sneaky as a damned Injun—no offense, John.”
“None taken.” John had long since learned to let such comments roll off his back. “If the odds had been in my favor, I’d have brought him in the other night.”
“No, you had a woman to protect. You did the right thing.” The detective finished his coffee and rose. “Thanks for the update. You’d be smart to watch your own back. The way Boone would see it, you’ve stolen his woman. He could have it in for you, as well as for her.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” John left, feeling that he’d done little more than kill time. Traverton had been sympathetic but nothing had changed. The detective had more urgent things on his mind than Boone’s threat to Emma’s safety. So far, all he’d done was make excuses.
Climbing back into the Jeep, John sat watching the rain stream down the windshield. He remembered Emma’s happy excitement today on the flight to Misty Fjords. He remembered their easy companionship, and her blazing response to his kiss—before she’d turned cold and pulled away.
Now she was gone. When he drove home to his dark, chilly cabin, she wouldn’t be there to share supper with him, to read with him in front of the fire, or to fall asleep in his arms. She’d been part of his life for just three days, but her absence had already left a void.
Across the street, the neon sign above the door of a tavern glowed through the dark rain, tempting him to come inside and forget his discontent. Just one drink. He’d take it in slow sips, feeling the welcome burn of the alcohol sliding down his throat. Just one drink. When it was gone, he would leave and go home.
But he’d been down that road before, and he knew where it led. Even after seven years of sobriety, the old urge was a devil whispering in his ear. When things were going well, it was easy to say no. But times like tonight, when he felt down and dark, the voice was there, and it never went away. Just one drink. Just one . . .
He glanced at his watch. His AA group met in the basement of a local church. A meeting was scheduled for tonight. It was early yet, but there’d be coffee and doughnuts and people he could talk to who were fighting demons of their own.
John started the Jeep, pulled into the street, and drove up the hill to the church. Tomorrow he’d be making the mail run in the Beaver. He’d be fine then, in the open sky. But tonight he could use some help.
* * *
The bar section of The Silver Salmon, the restaurant on the ground floor of the Gateway, could have served as a backdrop for an early 1900s gangster movie. There were wooden tables by the window with a view of the docks and more tables around the floor. But the most outstanding feature was the massive, ornately carved wooden bar that took up much of one wall and lent a touch of vintage elegance to the room. Doors on the far side opened into a tastefully remodeled dining room, but now that the cruise season was over, the locals seemed to prefer the rustic coziness of the bar.
Customers came for the local beers, the steaming chowders served in br
ead bowls, the salmon and crab, and the home-style comfort food. Even in the off season, the place was always busy.
Emma’s first shift was to begin at eleven o’clock, from lunch until closing time. Today she’d agreed to come down an hour early to learn the ropes. She felt a nervous flutter in the pit of her stomach as she slipped on the pink polyester waitress dress, which was at least two sizes too big, and cinched it in at the waist with a white apron. With her blue and white sneakers and bulky wool socks, it wasn’t exactly a fashion statement, but she could wear anything for two weeks.
After locking her small, plain room and dodging workmen in the hall, she made her way downstairs. She’d put herself through college working as a waitress, but she hadn’t waited tables for almost nine years. She could only hope she’d remember what to do.
“Hi, honey. You must be Emma.” A friendly voice greeted her as she walked into the restaurant. Standing next to the bar was a plump, silver-haired woman in a waitress uniform. “I’m Pearl.” She pointed to her name badge. “Welcome to The Silver Salmon.”
As Pearl showed her around the restaurant and reviewed the menus, chatting the whole time, Emma felt her old confidence returning. Yes, she could do this.
“Remember, The Silver Salmon is a friendly place,” Pearl said. “We get lots of locals, especially now that the cruise ship crowds are gone. Smile, introduce yourself, and chat them up. They’ll like that, and they’ll remember you. If there’s anything you need to know, just ask me. I’ll be here the whole time.”
By the time lunch was winding down, Emma was hitting her stride. The forgotten skills had resurfaced, as sharp as ever. She was greeting customers, taking orders, balancing platters of food and dishes, and running credit cards like a pro.
By three o’clock, the flow of lunch customers had dwindled to a trickle. Pearl pulled her aside as she carried a stack of dishes to the kitchen.
“You’re doing great, honey,” she said. “How are you holding up?”
Emma laughed. “My brain remembers what to do. But my feet and body are feeling the strain. I’ll be sore, but don’t worry, I’ll get used to it.”
“You’re entitled to a break,” Pearl said. “Go on, grab a bite to eat, and get the weight off your feet somewhere. I’ve asked one of the cooks to bag you a sandwich and a Coke. There’s a nice bench on the dock, where you can eat and unwind.”
“Thanks so much,” Emma said. “Believe me, I won’t expect this kind of royal treatment every day.”
“Get going, honey. I’ll be fine here until you get back.”
Emma took the lunch, thanked the cook, and wandered across the street to the dock. John had told her to make sure there were people around when she went out. This afternoon that was no problem. There were plenty of folks outside, shopping, walking their dogs, or just enjoying the weather, which, according to the forecast, was due to turn cold soon.
She finished her sandwich and soda, tossed the can and wrapper into a recycle bin, and crossed the street to the restaurant. Inside, she found Pearl talking to a tall, dark-haired boy, who appeared to be about seventeen.
“Hi, Emma,” Pearl greeted her. “You’re just in time to meet our new busboy and assistant dishwasher. He’ll be working here after school, to save up for a car, at least that’s what he tells me. David, this is Emma Hunter, our new temporary waitress.”
“Hello, David.” Emma managed to get the words out of her tight throat. Looking up at the tall youth, with his black hair and dark eyes and the sharp, emerging planes of his face, one thing was certain.